Ready to die?
by Rumpy Kamon
Summary: Harold has always been known as the creator of The Machine and his actions leads him to an unbearable end. I wrote this as my third Rinch. At first it was supposed to lead to Rinch hotness and not just friendness. But yeah, the content was way too dark to get there. Anyway I tried to keep it... Readable, I just hope you'll like it. DONT READ IF IMPRESSED - VIOLENCE AND DEATH


Funny to see how much a life can be insignificant for certain persons. Harold and John were part of the persons who cared, but the ones they were facing would have killed anybody who crossed their way. Obviously. And sadly, Harold crossed it with The Machine. Sure Harold was a clever man, a brilliant man. But he didn't have enough power to fight back the government.

The leader of the terrorist surveillance, a proud suited man without an ounce of non-patriotic kindness, had noticed a difference with the observations of The Machine, for some reasons, each night at midnight, it reconnected to another address for few seconds. A little moment, barely enough for someone to hack the system or being noticeable. Yet, here they were.

They needed few days to get back to the source, a source in the middle of nowhere, a place abandoned, unseen to the common people eyes. They sent a team to the place and what followed next was hard to handle.

Harold was firmly held by the arms, a black bag on his head. He was pulled, limping in a long white corridor by six men wearing army suits, heavily armed. He didn't say a word, struggling with pain to keep walking. They finally arrived to an iron door they opened. They dragged Harold inside and threw him on a chair. He balanced and got the bag off. He quickly threw a look at the room. The tall man in suit watched him.

" What have you done to the Machine mister Modine ? "

" I don't know what you're talking about. " Harold got punched in the mouth and bled a little, straightening his position.

" It's useless to try to lie to us. "

" Where am I ? "

" Where you're supposed to go when you try to trick us. "

" You must think me for someone else. "

" Harold Modine, born in 1962 in Iowa raised by a tutor. Student at MIT then, creator of the Machine, and a little rat who tried to cheat. We warned you once. Now you'd better listen if you don't want to finish like your friend, what was his name? Oh yes, Nathan Ingram. "

Harold frowned as a little trail of blood ran down his lips.

" What do you want ? "

" First, we want you to disconnect your dispositive on the Machine. Second you're going to destroy your files. Third you quit the country and never return. And so, we may let you live. "

" I won't. My life is not worth it if that means putting people in danger. "

" You think yourself of a hero ? " Harold got slapped. " Well, as we told you, we killed mister Ingram. We can easily find your new partner mister... Reese. "

Harold froze.

The agents thought they had found a way to corrupt him, but they didn't know that Harold had his earphone hid in his ear, and that his phone was still in the Library. John talked.

" Finch what's going on, who are you talking to ? Answer me. "

" You'll never find John. He's going to hide and escape from you. The government will never lay a hand on him. "

" Finch where are you ? I'm coming for you- "

" If you want to kill me go ahead, I knew this would happen, I can face it- "

" What a charming speech mister Modine, actually, we're close to find your partner. So do as you're told. " Harold turned slowly his head.

" No. " The man watched him before grinning.

" As you wish. "

Another man punched Harold and launched his glasses out of his face. The man in suit left the room and Harold got left with six men. There, Harold got beaten for few minutes. Punches were hard on his poor face. Harold gasped each time he got beaten, but he stood still, straight sitting legs closed against one another. Soon his brow ridge bled too, and his nose leaked the red liquid. The voice of the suited man echoed in the room.

" Are you still camping on your position mister Modine ? "

" I already told you that I was ready to die. " He answered trying to look at the men.

" You do realise that you are betraying your country. "

" No I'm protecting it. " And there he kept silent by another hit.

One of them pulled him near the table in the middle of the room and pushed his head against it. Harold felt his neck almost breaking, his old wounds were biting his limbs. One of them opened a suitcase as three other held him on the table. Harold knew what was coming. These kind of suitcase contained only one thing: torture weapons. A sweat drop ran on his back.

John, on the other hand, was trying to find his friend but nothing. He only heard Harold gasping and accepting death. He quickly got back to the Library and searched for any clue that could help him but, that wasn't a good idea at all. He heard a crac behind him and turned. Six other men were there, pointing their guns on John.

" Kneel. On the ground hands in your back. Now. "

" What have you done to him ? "

" Don't worry, you'll soon join him. "

They came closer and kicked him. Back in the room, Harold still got punched; his back, his legs, and from time to time, his face. But he remained worthy. His tiny face was bleeding from every pore of his skin. But he preferred dying better than be the cause of death of another of his friends. One of the men got out a pair of medical scissors. They held Harold's hand and placed his last knuckle between the two blades.

" Change the Machine's installation. " Harold panted.

" No. "

" You're sure it's what you want ? " Harold didn't answer. " I guess it's a 'yes' ."

And the man sliced Harold finger. A scream resonated in the whole building. Harold's face was torn with pain but still he managed to hold his tears. He tried to breath but he saw his fingers cut at the edge. The man strongly gripped his hand and changed finger.

" No, no, no..." He stuttered trying to get back his hand but he wasn't strong enough. " Don't do this please... " he begged moaning.

" Then change what you've done. " Harold started to cry. " Do it. "

" No..."

" Do it mister Modine. " Harold sniffed as he drooled on the table.

" Don't call me that. " The man clenched the blades.

" Wait! " said one of the other men. " His hand is already asleep. " He looked at Harold from above. " Bring the hooks. "

They put Harold on his feet and brought down two hooks from the ceiling. They tied his feet and hooked them.

" What are you going to do ? " He asked crying.

" What we're paid for. Take him up. "

The chains climbed up to the ceiling and quickly, Harold got upside down. His spine hurt so bad he thought he was dying. They opened his shirt and cut him above his throat. Not too profound but deep enough.

" You have thirty minutes to bleed out. Then you'll be dead. "

At the exact same time, John entered the building. He was tied and unarmed. But he had his earphone and he listened Harold screaming the whole time. He knew he was suffering to protect him and this, was unbearable. He threw himself backward, gripped one of the men's gun, shot his shackles then two other men. He used one of them as a shelter and shot two others. He got beaten up by the man he was holding and took a bullet in the shoulder but yet, he killed the two that still were alive. He tried to breath as he took their guns and armour. An alarm signal resonated with messages warning of a situation floor minus three. John quickly walked in the direction where the screams were coming, shooting anybody who came his way.

Harold was in pain for sure, but he hopped that it would quickly end. He might had been hanged upside down, he still got tortured by the men, now they were burning his chest with liquid nitrogen.

"Where do you people find your stuff ? " he managed to whisper, his brain unwilling to disconnect.

"Does it really matters ? "

" I'm surprised to... see how much, the government, invested just to torture me. " He answered chocking himself with blood.

"Shut up."

"I'll soon be dead anyway. And dead I will be useless... You'd better kill me now. " He articulated in a whisper.

"No. That would be doing you a favour." Harold shut and collapsed.

"Well done, what are we going to do with him now ? "

" Give him an injection of adrenaline." They did so as they heard words in their walkie talkie.

"We have an intrusion ground 3, he is armed and comes down your way. Lock the room."

"We haven't got any result yet."

"I can tell you that you won't get any result ever if you don't lock the room now."

"John..." Harold said opening his eyes. The tall man answered this call.

"I'm here Harold, don't worry, I'm coming for you."

"Don't... Do, that... Run away! " And he got punched once again. All of a sudden, Harold tightened his harm, grabbed a gun and shot himself in the chest. They jumped and unhooked him, putting him on the ground.

"Shit, shit, what do we do ? "

"Extract the bullet. "

"How ? "

"I don't know just save him you moron! "

Two of them held Harold as two others locked the room. A third man tried to take the bullet off with the medical aid they had, luckily, Harold was too weak and had missed. They pressed tissues against the wound and slapped him to get him back but he didn't move.

"He's loosing way too much blood."

"Wasn't a problem 'til now."

"We were in control. It was just... Intimidation. "

"We can't take him out."

"Yes but we can't let him die either." Bullets jumped on the door.

"He's here."

And yes, John was just behind the door. A door he couldn't open. So he found another way in. He moved to the control room nearby, shot the men and starred at the suited man. He didn't say a word and waited for John to shoot him. The tall man watched him and executed him. He turned and smashed the window. There he saw Harold's body, covered in blood. He froze. The six men moved away and got their hands up, not daring to say anything. John slowly got in and shoot them all, not even looking at them, before lying above Harold's body. He caressed his face.

"Harold ? Harold please open your eyes. " The tiny man spitted some blood.

" I told you... Not to come..."

"Shhh, it's ok, I'm gonna get you out of here. "

He grabbed Harold and carried him out painfully. Nobody were there to stop them on their way out. The leaders had been shot and now, they nearly got out. Harold didn't say a word, eyes closed. John was suffering too as he got shot seven times, despite having the men's armour. He stole a car and drove directly to the hospital. They were taken in charge immediately.

Three nurses surrounded John, trying to get the bullets out, he fainted as they did so. Harold was harder to cure. First the bullet he shot himself with had touched an artery, sewing him was a hard task. Then them had to reduce the burnt on his chest, that was slowly eating his flesh. And of course, the multiple hits and marks he had, had to be cleaned as well as his finger.

Six hours later, John opened his eyes. He was lying in an observation chamber, Harold next to him. He tried to move but realised that he was handcuffed to his bed. However he managed to untie himself and got to Harold. He looked at the tiny man, covered with traces. He dared having a look at his chest. His heartbeats were slowly going down.

" Harold. " John called. But no answer. He sat him and gave him some water. Harold half-opened his eyes.

" Are we dead ? " He asked of a tiny voice.

" Not yet. " He closed his eyes. " Don't you dare fainting now. " He said shaking him.

" Docks... "

" Docks ? What docks, what's there ? "

" Don't... "

John knew that if they left it would be a one way travel. But he couldn't let them die here. He took Harold in his harms and once again, drove down to the docks, watching Harold from time to time. He heard whispering. "Nath..." He got him out painfully and carried him to the bench where they met. They both sat there. John's wounds had opened because of Harold's weight. He was bleeding and would certainly die within few hours. Harold opened his eyes, but was too weak and only got hallucinations. " Grace ? " John looked at him and took his hand. Harold shivered, opened his mouth and froze. " Harold ? " No answer. " Harold ? " The tiny green sliver-blued eyes of the man starred at the other shore. His thin lips slowly parted. "Har..." No move, no breath. Nothing. Harold was dead. John put a hand on the man's neck and pulled him against his body. He cried. He wasn't used to but he cried. He felt his muscles relaxing. Few hours later, his eyes slowly closed too. His grip on Harold shoulder opened. Silence. He died with his friend, on the docks.


End file.
